Cold Mortality
by Winter Winks 221
Summary: Sherlock nearly drowns in Leith Harbour whilst on a case, and Lestrade is not happy about it. (Rated T for swearing)


'The afternoon knows what the morning never suspects.'

...

Evangeline Lestrade (nee Clark) had been fond of living by that saying, even on the day of her death, and her son, Greg, can never agree more with the sentiments of his mother that day- for Sherlock Holmes has somehow obtained the criminal's identity using earwax on the earphones found outside. No matter how impressive it had been, it is still unusual and disgusting.

Now, rather than bothering with any sanity, Sherlock ends up chasing the criminal- a 27 year old man named Rupert Adams - down the pier outside their hotel. The criminal is quickly seized, but the daft idiot (Sherlock, that is, not Adams) hasn't tied his shoelaces. John has constantly nagged him about it for health and safety reasons, but the consulting idiot always claims that he's either 'busy' or find it 'boring.'

So now Sherlock is in the freezing ocean of Leith Harbour and John is nowhere to be found- great. The DI fishes out his mobile phone and attempts to call him for help – but it just gives a mournful, croaking beep and then suddenly flashes off.

Lestrade swears again, before throwing his dead phone down, shedding his jacket and shoes as quickly as possible before he climbs down the ladder to the murky waters below.

"Bugger!" He curses as he cuts his hand on the rungs. More than once his feet slipped on the rungs on his clumsy climb down and his hand stings like hell.

"Sherlock!" he yells urgently "Come on mate, where are you?"

No sign of the git anywhere. Tears of desperation are beginning to pool in his eyes, blurring his vision. The wind begins to blow more strongly now, so he grips on more tightly. He doesn't want to end up in the ocean as well if he can help it.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabs the policeman's leg and with a loud yell, he's in the ocean as well.

"There you are!" He sighs in relief, looking into the blue eyes of the biggest idiot -and genius - who has ever graced the Earth.

He's found

Sherlock.

Throwing an arm round the younger man's shoulder, Lestrade begins to swim back towards the ladder. Blood from his hand gets on Sherlock's coat, but he doesn't care. It was Sherlock's fault for getting them in this mess, so he can deal with its consequences.

…

About an hour and a half later, back in their hotel room, John is fussing over the pair of them, fixing blankets, digging out clothes, putting the kettle on.

"Sherlock bleeding Holmes, are you insane?!" He snaps, in his usual Sherlock related anger.

"But Adams had to be caught John! He was going to kill the person in the room next to us if we didn't do something." His friend protests, looking at his tea. "He's a killer John. We were out of both time and options."

"You nearly got yourself killed! For God's sake, Sherlock, sometimes I wish you would stop this bloody game of cat and mouse before you actually do get bumped off!" The doctor hisses in annoyance.

With that, he storms out of the room to run a hot bath for the pair of them.

"I caught him didn't I?" Sherlock yells after him, before sitting down on the bed for a sulk. Ah, so Adams had been caught then- but the DI will find out the arrest details later. Right now, he needs to be a friend.

"Sherlock- when will you start listening to others?" Lestrade asks him seriously.

"What? I heard him loud and clear Lestrade. He wants me to stop being so reckless. But I take risks like this all the time, so what's the difference?"

"For crying out loud, Sherlock- will you just open your blooming ears and start listening to your best friend! He just wants you to be more careful with your life! Why, how you feel if he was fatally wounded -or even killed because of a case gone wrong?"

"Don't even go there!" Sherlock snaps at him, though Lestrade catches a momentary flash of fear and panic at the thought of such a thing happening to him.

"See? You don't want to think about it because you're afraid of the outcomes of reality, and John's the same. He cares about you, Sherlock- a lot. I care about you too, even it doesn't seem like I do." He puts a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "He's only mad because he wants you to be a lot more considerate of your mortality, but you're just being an arrogant sod, as usual. So, next time you think of doing something so idiotic, will you do us a favour?"

"What?" Sherlock huffed.

"Stop thinking you're bloody immortal." The DI growls.

"I know I'm not immortal. It's illogical." Sherlock retorts defensively, but when he sees how angry his...friend, is looking, he figures he is better not to cross the line.

"But fine, I will try and be less reckless." The detective adds in conceding agreement. He doesn't want Lestrade mad at him too- especially since as the only thing he finds unpredictable about John is his anger: clemency ratio.

"Good. You can start keeping that promise by trying to tie your shoelaces." Lestrade tells him with a grin.

Sherlock gives a rare smile in return, until they both hear John's voice.

"Bath's ready! Get in here you two!"

Both men exchange embarrassed looks.

"Must we, John?" Sherlock whines.

"Shut up, Sherlock! You got both yourself and Lestrade in the sea, and I refuse to draw up another bath for you! Now stop being such a soppy old sulk and get in!"

"We'll be fine, mate." Lestrade assures the terrified detective. "I mean, neither of us is sharing with Anderson, so we'll live."

"Oh God no Lestrade! Don't even suggest that! He hurries into the bathroom with a squeak and a wail. Lestrade just laughs. He loves winding Sherlock up- especially seeing as he got him went and very close to an infection on his left hand from that bloody cut.


End file.
